


Decadence

by misha_anon



Series: Decadence, Baby [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dominant/Top Castiel, First Time, Future Castiel, Jealousy, M/M, Rutting, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2014 and the time for waiting is over.  Castiel finally figures out what Dean's problem is and takes it upon himself to fix it, if only for the moment.  In the process, Castiel soothes his own ache, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decadence

**Author's Note:**

> Dom!Cas and a bit of pushing Dean around and making him uncomfortable, but I don't feel it's rough enough to warrant tagging for violence. Beta'd by the lovely and talented [barefootmorning](http://barefootmorning.tumblr.com).

Since the angels left the world to its own devices and Castiel powerless in their wake, he’s had a lot less patience with, well, everything.  He’s been avoiding Dean for three days, losing himself in a haze of drugs and a string of more than willing women.  He’s been practically human for a year, but sometimes it feels like he was never anything more.  

Castiel stares at nothing until his eyes burn, then reaches up to rub them.  He’s alone now, lying on the rug in his cabin, exhausted and feeling sick.  He never knew these feelings before – these physical manifestations of hard living.  All the time spent observing his father’s favorite creation never prepared him for _being_ one of them.

Here on the floor in the fading light of sunset, Castiel tries yet again to pinpoint where it all went wrong.  He doesn’t want to blame Dean for what his life has become, but isn’t that what it always comes back to?  Dean did the right thing, of course, in saying no to Michael.  The righteous man’s folly had been his _self_ -righteous dismissal of his brother.  That was where everything went to shit.  

Guilt tightens Castiel’s jaw as he feels Dean approaching the cabin.  He waits until his fearless leader is reaching for the bead curtain before he speaks.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Dammit, Cas.  How do you _do_ that?”

The truth is that Castiel can still feel Dean’s soul.  It’s like an aura that reaches out to him and the seemingly unbreakable bond they share is his last link to grace, a reminder of what he used to be.  The truth is Castiel can feel all the changes, small and large, in that soul since he dragged it from the fires of Hell and pieced it back together.  The truth is that Castiel knows intimately what his friend is becoming and he doesn’t like it one bit.  He figured out a long time ago that Dean doesn’t want to hear the truth.

“I heard you,” he lies, shrugging and making his way to his feet, annoyed at the interruption.  “Did you need something?  I’m busy.”

“Yeah, you looked real busy laying there feeling sorry for yourself.  Aren’t we past that?  I thought all this new-agey incense and harmony crap ‘centered’ you.”  Dean gestures expansively around the room as he speaks but his challenging eyes never leave Castiel’s.  He continues with an edge of sarcasm,  “Thought the booze and the pills and the _women_ ‘connected’ you.”

“You’re jealous,” Castiel realizes.  When he advances, head tilted as he sees his leader in this new light, Dean takes a step back.  “But, why?  You have the same access to ‘booze and pills and _women_ ’ as..”

Dean is leaned as far away from Castiel as he can be without taking another step.  When he looks down at the mention of the fairer sex, it clicks in Castiel’s mind.  “You’re jealous of – of what I share with them?  Is _that_ what this is about?”

“I – _what_?!  No!”  Dean’s tone is hard, but he refuses to meet Castiel’s gaze.  He crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step back, swallows and continues weakly,  “… _should_ I be jealous?”

Castiel can feel the unease and confusion rolling off Dean in waves as he follows, see it etched clearly in the beautiful symmetry of his face.  For the first time in months, Castiel _wants_ to be patient.  This is everything to him, but if he spooks Dean away now, well…  no…  no, he mustn’t.  He reaches up to lay his palm flat against the side of Dean’s neck.

“Look at me.”  He strokes the pad of his thumb soothingly against Dean’s rough jaw and waits.  Under Castiel’s touch, Dean’s heart races and his body quivers, his indecision palpable.  For the first time in months Castiel is oddly at peace… stroking, watching, waiting.  “Please.”

“Cas…” His voice is unfamiliar to Castiel’s ears, thick and soft and almost pleading.  

Stroke, watch, wait.  Dean reaches up to cover his face with one hand, a physical barrier between them.  He takes his time, strokes the bridge of his nose and rubs his forehead.  Castiel can’t help but feel that all his millennia of watching and waiting were to make ready for this.

After a long moment, Dean lets his arms drop to his sides and raises his eyes.  His unguarded expression comes as a surprise; a sudden reminder of things long gone and it hits Castiel viscerally, making his chest ache.  He’s close, so close.  He whispers, “God, Dean, I’m sorry.  Why didn’t you…”

“…tell you?”  Dean offers a half smile with his words.

Castiel nods slowly, lost for words.  He leans in, still cautious, his fingers tightening on Dean’s neck as their lips meet.  His body coils tight and when he feels Dean’s lips part to draw a breath, he pushes on, teasing against Dean’s tongue and the roof of his mouth.  He savors the taste of whiskey and the feel of Dean’s supple lips.  As much as Castiel wants to take this slow and easy, he can’t bring himself to.  His mind is too clouded with need.

The force of his kiss pushes Dean against the wall in a collision of bodies and open mouths.  Dean moans, his shaking hands finding Castiel’s hips to pull him closer.  It doesn’t matter that Dean is bigger or stronger or in command of everything for miles around, this is Castiel’s turf.  He sucks at Dean’s bottom lip then drags his teeth over its plumpness before he finally breaks away.  Dean is breathless, arching, his grip on Castiel rough.

“What do you want?”  Castiel growls against Dean’s neck.  He follows his words with a sharp bite, feeling electricity like a bolt down his spine when Dean yelps.  Dean tilts his head away, giving Castiel the space to lick and nip even as he pushes a thigh to grind between Dean’s legs.

Dean’s cock is rock hard as he grinds down in response.  His fingers brush Castiel’s stomach as he fumbles with the button of his jeans in answer to the question hanging in the air, but that isn’t going to cut it.  Castiel pushes forward, pinning Dean to the wall with his chest.  He kisses a wet line to Dean’s ear, “ _Tell me_.”

“You.”  The raw simplicity of the answer torn from Dean’s chest soothes an ache Castiel didn’t even know he had.  He pulls away, panting as he palms Dean’s face, searching green eyes for any trace of uncertainty.  All Castiel sees there is a reflection of his own desire.  That settled, he pulls Dean away from the wall and rewards him with another kiss.

Castiel makes quick work of Dean’s thick jacket and grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it up impatiently.  He breaks the kiss to tug the garment off and toss it to the floor.  His hands seek the warmth of Dean’s skin, stroking lightly.  Dean’s breathing is shallow and unsteady and his heart is thundering in his chest as Castiel presses the tip of his tongue into the hollow between collarbones.  

He sucks the tender skin just beneath and earns a throaty groan and fingers twisting in his shirt desperately.  It’s pure instinct, Castiel knows, when Dean tries to stop him unbuckling the ever-present thigh holster.  Funny the things that trip you up in this fucked up world.

“You’re safe.  I’ve got you,” he reassures, teeth grazing Dean’s throat as his free hand grips Dean’s hip.  Dean hesitates only briefly before he releases Castiel’s wrist and allows him to remove the holster.  The heartfelt, hummed “thank you” from Castiel’s lips makes Dean shiver.

He pulls Dean across the room in the direction of the bed, shedding boots and clothing as they move.  Castiel manages somehow to put the brakes on the frantic need gnawing at his insides, his patience making a reappearance.  At the edge of the bed, Castiel presses the full length of his naked body to Dean’s, lips hovering over lips to ask, “Have you ever done this?”

Dean shakes his head, offers a breathy, “No, never”.  He seems surprised with Castiel’s returned, “Good.”  Dean chuckles nervously when Castiel guides him back onto the bed and follows, and when he opens his mouth – to voice a wisecrack, Castiel has no doubt – Castiel presses a fingertip to his lips, “Don’t.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he gives a quick nod.  Castiel decides to make this easy for him.  He lets his body find its place against Dean’s in a tangle of long legs and sweaty chests.  His cock aches with need when Dean grabs his hips and arches up, trapping the sensitive flesh to slide in the slick of his own precome.  Kissing, wet and imprecise and with bumping teeth and bitten lips turns to slack-mouthed moaning and growling as they writhe and rut together.

“ _Cas_ …” It is at once a question and a plea, a secret to share in the twilight.  Castiel wraps a sure fist around Dean’s cock, stroking and twisting as he rocks his hips down hard.  Dean comes apart at his touch, gasping and whimpering curses.  The erratic, too rough jerking of Castiel’s hips pinches his cock uncomfortably between his body and Dean’s, serving only to heighten his enjoyment.

The drag of Castiel’s thumb pad across the crown of Dean’s cock spells the end.  His body spasms violently and he cries out, bowing up.  Castiel rides the crest of his own pleasure; moaning and fucking against Dean’s body savagely, frantically as he feels Dean’s thick come coat his fingers.

“Yes, _fuck_ ,” Castiel gasps, his muscles pulling taut, curling his body against Dean’s.  With a final twisting thrust into sweat and slick, he grinds as the fire burning in the pit of his stomach is finally released.  All Castiel knows is Dean’s fingers digging into the small of his back to pull him closer, Dean’s lips on his neck, kissing and whispering, urging him on as he comes harder than he ever has, so hard it shakes his bones.

Pulse after thick pulse of come slicks between his body and Dean’s as Castiel continues to rock his hips reflexively.  He can’t think, can’t breathe, his heart is hammering out a rhythm in his ears so loud he can’t hear anything else, thrumming down his spine and expanding at the base of his skull so that he thinks he might explode.  Everything feels so good, so right inside Castiel that he wants to cry with relief.  

He is vaguely aware of Dean’s softened body beneath his and the fingers curled around the back of his neck, of the fact that his come-slick hand is clinging to Dean’s hip.  As darkness settles in with its blanket of silence, there is nothing but ragged breathing and the tremble of spent bodies.  It takes a moment for Castiel to register that something’s different, and another moment for him to place the difference.

When it dawns on him what it is, Castiel releases his grip on Dean’s hip and wipes his hand on the bed.  He clambers to his elbows, framing Dean’s face gently and stroking idly over his cheekbones.  He searches his lover’s face for an answer, finding only adoration and a lazy, sated smile.

The pain he has so long associated with the touch of Dean’s soul isn’t gone, but it has ebbed to an undercurrent, lightening a shadowed weight on Castiel’s heart. He sighs his pleasure and presses a slow, tender kiss to Dean’s lips.  Dean looks curious, though not at all surprised, when Castiel pulls back reluctantly with a murmured, “I love you.”


End file.
